


Talk Less

by flibbertygigget



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, POW AU, Somewhat Historically Accurate, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burr and Hamilton are captured by the redcoats during the retreat from New York.</p><p>"Remember," Burr whispered as they prepared to enter the prison ship, "talk less."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk Less

The ragged line of prisoners marched through the ruined streets of New York City. Aaron Burr could just see the ships that dipped and swayed in the harbor. Not for the first time he wondered where the redcoats were taking them, but he knew better than to speak. He couldn't risk getting injured so early in the game.

Burr glanced over at his companion. Hamilton had been oddly withdrawn for the last few days of their march, but Burr supposed that the beating the British had administered had to have dulled even Hamilton's prickly tongue.

"Remember," he whispered as they stopped at the foot of the dock and prepared to enter the small rowboat, "talk less." Hamilton didn't respond.

* * *

 

They had been retreating from New York for weeks when it happened. Yet another dispatch of British soldiers had been sent to harass their weary men, and Burr had no choice but to try to keep his men moving. His horse had died a few days before, and to make a stand would only serve to throw away all their lives. This was the reasoned, logical response.

It had happened so fast that Burr would never recall it perfectly. He had turned to check on the stragglers, to make sure that no one would be needlessly captured, when he saw the brave fool trying to make a stand and take on a company of soldiers single-handed. Burr had ran, cocking his service pistol.

"Hamilton, stand down! You'll kill us all!" The general's aide had turned, wide-eyed and furious, opening his mouth as though to start arguing in the midst of battle. Then the barrel of a musket came down on him, and Hamilton dropped.

Burr should have turned away. He should have continued his retreat, followed his orders, but the blood of unseasoned soldiers soaked the ground beneath him and stuck his feet in their place. Burr made the greatest mistake of his life that day, the one mistake he had vowed to never make. He took a stand even though it was futile, even though he knew he could do nothing for Hamilton but die, then or later. Burr stood over Hamilton's unconscious body and put round after round into the redcoats.

Of course, his resistance couldn't last. By the time Burr surrendered, his mind was back in rights and methodically working on a plan to get them out of captivity alive. But even as he planned, in his heart Burr knew that there was no escape from the redcoats' clutches. His mistake had doomed him.

* * *

 

The deck of the HMS  _Jersey_ swayed beneath Burr's feet, and he stumbled slightly as a redcoats pushed him down through the hatch into the hold. Burr heard Hamilton hiss behind him, and he silently prayed that the man would keep silent. No good could come from aggravating their captors.

Through the darkness, Burr could hear labored breathing and deep coughing. The whole hold smelt of spoiled food, feces, and disease. Burr was pushed into a cell, with Hamilton following him. That was good at least. It would be easier to plan their escape with an ally by his side.

The guards had left. Burr reached out into the darkness, and he eventually touched Hamilton's leg. "Hamilton," he whispered.

"Burr, sir?" He sounded young and frightened. Burr may have been born a year later than Hamilton, but he felt a decade older at that moment.

"Yes, it's me." He felt Hamilton shift closer.

"Do you think there's any way to get out of here? Those brutes up there-"

"That's exactly the kind of talk the will get you killed. An opportunity will present itself, we simply must wait for it. Until then, keep your head down and your mouth shut." Impulsively, Burr grabbed Hamilton's arm. "Do you understand me?"

"I'm not stupid, Burr," Hamilton said peevishly. The fear was nearly gone from his voice. Good.

"Of course you're not," Burr said. "We may be stuck here awhile, though. You cannot forget to be prudent. Talk less-"

"Smile more." Burr could feel Hamilton's grin through the darkness. "You've told me this before, Burr. Don't worry, I won't forget." Burr grunted, disbelieving.

* * *

 

Faint beams of sunlight were just beginning to peek through the slants above them when the hatch was thrown open and half a dozen soldiers marched down.

"Get up," one of the soldiers barked. Burr stood, snapping at attention, and Hamilton scrambled up beside him. Around them others slowly got to their feet, all except for a few bundles. A sour taste filled Burr's mouth. Those were the ones too weak or ill to do as commanded... or the ones for whom any help would come too late. The soldiers walked slowly through the cramped hold, occasionally kicking the motionless bodies. Then the one who had spoken before turned and looked directly at Burr and Hamilton. 

"You two," he said, "get these bodies up to the main deck." Burr stepped forward to perform his task, but Hamilton just glared.

"Those men were honorable members of the Continental Army," he said.

"Hamilton, don't," Burr whispered, not expecting his words to do much good.

"They were brave men, gentlemanly in every way, yet you will abuse their corpses and deny their families the comfort of giving them a Christian burial-" the soldier stepped forward a d backhanded Hamilton across the face.

"State your name and rank," he said.

"Colonel Alexander Hamilton,  _sir,_ " Hamilton spat, using the honorific like it was a curse.

"Lieutenant Hastings," the soldier said. "I don't give a damn if you're George Washington himself. On this ship, you are a prisoner and a traitor to the Crown."

"I assure you, Lieutenant, there is no title I would more happily be bestowed." Hastings backhanded Hamilton again.

"I see you have not learned your lesson. Breuer, Rockwell, take him to Commander Mansfield for punishment. Perhaps a sound whipping will discourage that mouth of his." Burr opened his mouth to defend Hamilton, but then he clamped it shut. At best, he would share Hamilton's punishment. At worst, he would be killed. Neither was a situation that would be useful to his plans of escape.

Burr obediently dragged the dead bodies to be thrown overboard. Burr obediently returned to his cell, ignoring his fellow soldier's screams of pain. When Hamilton returned, bruised and bloody, Burr gave him the morsel he had saved from their repast, hoping that it would cover his guilt.

* * *

 

It took very little time to gauge the dispositions of the men they found themselves answering to. Most of the redcoats were simple cadets, as likely to give extra bread as a beating. Lieutenant Hastings was a bully, delighting in pushing and slapping but without the courage to do anything more. It was Commander Mansfield who was the real danger. The man had a soul so seeped in sadism and cruelty that Burr doubted he had ever had a kind thought in his life. If they died, it would be by Mansfield's hand, that or the ever-present threat of disease and starvation.

As damaging to his fellow soldier as it was, Burr was somewhat grateful for Hamilton's sharp tongue, which refused to be curbed no matter how many whipping he endured. It allowed Burr to sink below notice more easily, and that same low profile was essential to the plan that was beginning to form in his mind. The one man he had never seen was Captain Lewis. 

The name was like the name of a demon whispered between the captives. It was said that those who entered his cabin emerged changed, scarred by some invisible weapon wielded by the Captain. None spoke of their experiences, but it must... It did not bear thinking of. Burr had no choice but to hinge his plans on obtaining a place in Captain Lewis's good graces. Only the Captain could arrange an exchange of prisoners, and only Burr could convince him of the sense in the proposition. It was their only chance.

* * *

 

At first, Burr disregarded the signs of the illness. He had no reason to fear the slight headache and dry mouth, not when Hamilton lay next to him with his back torn open and susceptible to infection. But soon the fever had completely taken hold, and Burr found himself hovering in a dangerous dreamlike state between sleep and death.

"Burr!" Burr forced open his eyes. Hamilton knelt by his side, features openly showing his fear. Burr mumbled something, and Hamilton brought a cup to his lips. The water was sour and foul, but Burr drank every drop.

"Hamilton," he whispered.

"You've fallen ill." Burr nodded weakly. "Don't worry. I'll keep them from you until you're recovered."

"No need," Burr rasped. "I- I am fine."

"No, you aren't." Hamilton ran a hand through his tangle of matted black hair. "But you're going to get better, of course. Right?" Burr had never felt older.

"Of course," he lied. "Hamilton, this is- is important. You must-" He broke into a violent fit of coughing. "You m- must get me t- to the Captain."

"Burr..." Hamilton's hand ghosted over Burr's burning forehead. 

"O- Only chance. I m- must convince him we are v- valuable." Burr closed his eyes. "At least you are Washington's aide," he mumbled. Hamilton didn't answer at first, nervous fingers playing fearlessly with the ragged hem of Burr's shirt.

"Fine," he said, "but not before you're better."

"Hamilton, we don't have that long."

"But-"

"It's our only chance." Burr tried to convey authority through his weak, quivering voice. "If you don't begin at once, we will- we will both die in this wretched place." Hamilton, at great length, squeezed Burr's hand.

"Of course, sir," he said softly.

* * *

 Aaron Burr may have been weakened, but he would not be dragged to the Captain's cabin like a slave. He had too much pride for that.

Hamilton, it turned out, could be cooperative on occasion. More than that, he had somehow managed to convince Lieutenant Hastings, of all people, to allow Burr his audience with the Captain. Perhaps Burr had underestimated Hamilton. He had insisted on being the one to enter the negotiations, mostly because he had assumed that Hamilton's reckless mouth would blow away their only shot at freedom. But it seemed that, with enough incentive, Hamilton could take advice.

Burr was visible trembling by the time they reached the door to the Captain's cabin. He tried to lock his knees against it, but his body was determined to play Judas. The door opened, and there stood Captain Lewis.

Lewis was a short, plump man with a cherry-red nose and jovial eyes. He did not appear to be the kind of person that could reduce brave men to gibbering idiots, but Burr was not so stupid as to trust him. A cheerful man in Hell was a dangerous man indeed.

"My dear sir!" said Captain Lewis, as though they were reunited friends and not prisoner and jailwarden. "Come in, please, and sit. May I get you a drink? We have some excellent wine, just acquired from a French merchant ship."

"No, thank you," Burr said, sitting gratefully. Lewis shrugged and daintily poured himself a glass.

"Now, tell me, why is it you asked to see me?" he said.

"Sir," said Burr, "I have a proposition that may prove mutually beneficial to you and I."

"Well, I daresay any change in arrangement would suit you nicely," said the Captain with a laugh.

"Indeed," Burr said dryly. "You are aware, of course, of the many men who have been captured by the colonial army. I believe that yiu hold beneath you the key to securing the release of a few of the more important of them. This will be, of course, a nice feather in your cap, and the cost shall be very little."

"My dear man, are you turning loyal?" Burr swallowed whatever honor he might have had.

"I am prepared to do whatever it takes to convince you of my sincerity." The Captain's eyes sparkled with merriment, but his smile was cold and frog-like.

"On your knees, soldier." Burr scrambled to obey. He was well aware of the direction their meeting had turned towards, but he did not protest, though the very thought made his stomach rebel. It was vile and perverted, but Burr had said "whatever it takes," and he had meant it. Freedom from Hell was well worth the disgusting price Lewis demanded.

Still, Burr closed his eyes as Lewis undid his trousers. 

* * *

 

Burr's strength had given out. Though he had walked to Lewis's cabin with his head held high, he was dragged back to his cell like a string-cut marionette. But he was not broken, he resolved, not like those other men. He just needed more time to come to terms with what he had offered Lewis.

"Burr, how did it go?" Hamilton wad frightened by his weakness. Burr couldn't even bear to look at him.

"The date has been agreed upon for your release," Burr said in careful monotone. A hand grabbed Burr's shoulder, and he flinched.

"My release? What do you mean?" The hand gripped tighter. "You can't mean they aren't letting you go!"

"Lewis believes me to have turned Loyalist. We cannot afford to blow our cover now."

"No, I'm not leaving you here!" Burr laughed a deep, humorless laugh that quickly devolved into coughing. 

"It's all I can do to get you out, Hamilton. The plan hinges on Washington's inexplicable fondness for you. I doubt he would extend the same regard to me."

"But you'll die here." Burr forced himself to look at Hamilton. 

"We all must, eventually," he said. "I can only hope that, when they discover my duplicity, they will make my death quick."

"They won't," Hamilton said. "They'll torture you, sir. I can't leave you to that, I just can't!"

"I don't plan on giving you the choice. Hamilton, please, do the smart thing for once in your life. Talk less. Take whatever shots are given to you."

"But-"

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid." Hamilton glared at him, angry that it was Burr who got to play Hero of the Revolution this time, not understanding that this had nothing to do with his idealistic war fantasies at all. This was a simple matter of Aaron Burr being useless as a bargaining chip and choosing instead to sacrifice his piece. He would vacate his position at the board, and Hamilton would have to replace him as chessmaster. It was the best he could do in this lopsided game.

"Fine," Hamilton said at last, "but I will return for you and get you out of here, Burr. I promise you that, at least." Burr knew how empty the promise was, but he chose not to comment. He would take what comfort he could get in Hell.

* * *

 

The war was over.

The war was won.

Hamilton gazed at the burning hulk of the HMS  _Jersey,_ at the thousand-odd survivors rescued from its depths, and he felt ill. Colonel Aaron Burr had not been inside the vessel. He was nowhere to be found.

Even in the face of truth, Hamilton tried to look away. Burr could not be dead. He had promised that he would come back for him, that he would drag him from the Hell they had been imprisoned in for those long months. Burr could not be dead, because Hamilton was a man of honor, and he never went back on his word.

The sea seemed to stretch on forever.

The world was too wide.

Hamilton knew there was an island across the sea that was responsible for this. England had murdered Aaron Burr, and Hamilton longed for the war again. He longed to avenge that infuriating soul who somehow though his careful words and shuttered heart could protect a reckless young soldier.

But that war was over.

Hamilton was helpless.

He would return home now, to Eliza, to Philip, to all the things he would never have had if not for Burr's awful gift. He would go home, and he would be content, happy even, but never satisfied. Satisfaction would only come if he saw Aaron Burr again, all calm center and cool edges, always logical, always in control.

Alexander Hamilton hung his head and allowed himself to weep.


End file.
